


heartache i've heard is part of life, and I have broken more and more

by maplewoodmoth



Series: We have love in our pockets [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Another Stealing Harry Fic, Found Family, Gen, and nobody can stop me from writing it one short chapter at a time., look y'all Hagrid would make a GREAT DAD, so mote it be, stolen family, this is gonna be cute and fluffy. Unlike my other fics.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-16 01:58:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18681805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maplewoodmoth/pseuds/maplewoodmoth
Summary: The one where Hagrid steals Harry away





	1. run boy, run, this race is a prophecy

**Author's Note:**

> the first chapter bears some resemblance to another fic that I've posted- "with my heart that I carry in a shoebox in a cage" and that's where the resemblance will end because that was a short fic idea to begin with. I'm taking that idea and running with it like stolen goods.  
> The next chapter is where the fun REALLY begins, after all :)

It doesn’t happen the way you’d expect. The thing is, Hagrid doesn’t /mean/ for any of it to happen. But, well. It does. And that’s the thing with life, you have to deal with the cards you’ve been dealt, no matter how bad- Hagrid knows this, he’s lived it before. But seeing the hands that other people have been dealt always hurts something a little inside him, especially when they’re as bad as his own. 

Seeing the lil tyke, no more than 5 deal with his own cards just makes Hagrid ache. 

When Hagrid looks. When he sees Harry, little Harry, with his skin too dark for the Dursleys to excuse having in their family photos, and his anger bubbling beneath his skin, and his confusion at why he is different- why his different is bad of all things. When he sees a young, lonely boy, who’s different and with nobody left to love him- well. He can’t leave him alone at the Dursley’s, after that. 

What originally started as a search in muggle London for good fertilizer and decent books on animal behavior that “coincidentally” took him through the streets of Little Whinging to speak with the landscape architecture companies he knew of there (and Miss Figg) became a mission. A mission against Dumbledore’s decision. 

Not that Hagrid knew it at the time.


	2. leave all your love and your longing behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Hagrid finds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title is from Dog Days Are Over by Florence and the Machine

It starts like this.

Tea with Miss Figg has taken him longer than he intended and by the time he finally finally bids his goodbyes after saying his farewells to Miss Figg and all her hoards of cats and kneazles- cute lil’ mischievous things they are, the lot of them-, it’s dark outside. 

Little Whinging is quiet this time of night, not that Hagrid expects anyone to be up. It’s nearing one in the morning on a weekday, and only night workers, hooligans and ne'er do wells are up this time of night. And Hagrid of course. Not that Little Whinging, Surrey usually had any of those types of visitors at any time usually. 

The house he’s searching for, the one in particular, is plain and average, just like the others. It sits firmly in it’s row, unassuming and normal, so very normal. Except. 

The lights are on. 

Well not lights, that’s an overstatement, just one light is on; in the back left of the house, just barely visible through the front windows and Hagrid is. Hagrid is curious. 

He may be large, but he has a talent for being unobtrusive: he doesn’t use it often but well. Not many people know him even if he does work at Hogwarts. He makes himself known how and when he wants to be, anything besides that is just an accident or other people paying more attention than they should. Which kind of sounds shady. But he’s a half-giant who works with skittish animals and walks in the shadows of the magical world to talk with others like him who don’t fit in and to just live. He knows how to creep silent and unnoticed through the crowds, how to make himself fit in. Not that it always works. He is 8 feet after all.

So he slowly and silently approaches the house, wary of staying towards the shadows and in case anyone decides to peek out of the windows and sees him- or won’t see him as the case is. Hagrid is good at being quiet but he’s also not dumb, and he has a talent at disillusionment charms. So silent and disillusioned, Hagrid walks silently across the perfectly manicured lawn, just like the others around it and peeks in through the window. And it’s. The sight it’s. 

There’s a small boy in the kitchen, standing on a chair in front of the sink, steam rising from it and a too-large, already wet apron tied to him. Grey shirt (too long), and worn second-hand jeans (too big) with a belt looped around his waist thrice to keep it up, and messy black hair he keeps blowing out of his face in annoyance and big glasses that fog up, enough that he pauses in his washing of the dishes and pans and pots and kitchen to push up atop his mop of hair with his elbow, hands covered in suds as they are. And squinting eyes, looking out the window that he can’t possibly see with a prescription so thick, that Hagrid sees, even from a distance, are very very green.


	3. Do not weep, do not wail: I am coming home to you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Thus Always to Tyrants by the Oh Hellos

Now that’s no way to raise a lil tyke like that. 

The small boy is obviously tired, yawning on occasion and smudging his tired eyes with his elbows, covered by the scrunched up sleeves of his too big shirt. 

Hagrid has an inkling of a feeling that he knows exactly who this boy is, what with it being impossible for him to forget gunning it down the street five years prior with the most precious package he’s ever delivered, on a borrowed motorcycle from a murderer. 

But it’s late and dark and there’s not much he can do. Dumbledore did say that the family was for the best, and maybe it’s the other child. Still no way to raise a little tyke, so Hagrid resolves to check in sooner or later. For now though, it’s late, so Hagrid tucks the encounter in the back of his mind and resolves think about it later, turn it over in his mind when he has the time for it and the proper headspace. It’s been a long night and, he checks his watch; it’s about to become an even longer one, what with the fact that he has to run some errands in the, less-reputable parts of London.

With that in mind, he strides away towards the middle of the street and apparates away with his pink umbrella and a plethora of thoughts, mindless of the little face that peeks out of the little window at Number 5 Privet Drive, that stares at the street with wide green eyes. 

Other than that, the night is quiet, and so it goes.


End file.
